


More Than

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [122]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bickering, Childhood Trauma, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Growing Old Together, Grumpy Old Men, Guilt, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Old Married Couple, Personal Growth, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Screenplay/Script Format, Sibling Incest, Slice of Life, Therapy, imperfect Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: SAM and DEAN sit close together on a long couch. Two blankets drape over DEAN; his left knee rests on a stack of pillows on the coffee table. SAM sits on DEAN’S left, covered with his own blanket, and holds a bowl of popcorn. The lights are dimmed. They are halfway through the movie Jurassic Park. [screenplay/script format]





	More Than

INT. LIVING ROOM - EARLY EVENING

  


SAM and DEAN sit close together on a long couch. Two blankets drape over DEAN; his left knee rests on a stack of pillows on the coffee table. SAM sits on DEAN’S left, covered with his own blanket, and holds a bowl of popcorn. The lights are dimmed. They are halfway through the movie Jurassic Park.

 

DEAN casually places his arm over SAM’s shoulders. SAM leans in, but he is engrossed in the movie.

 

DEAN

You know, we’ve seen this movie at least a hundred times.

 

SAM eats a handful of popcorn and nods. His eyes are glued to the screen.

 

SAM

(grossed out)

Oh, ugh, why would she stick her arm into a pile of dinosaur feces? You know, I wonder whatever happened to that triceratops. They don’t mention it ever again.

 

DEAN

(sighing)

You know, you ask that every single time we watch this--so you’ve asked that same question at least a hundred times.

 

SAM

Well, why spend all that money on building and filming it if you’re only going to show it once?

 

DEAN

(quipping)

I don’t know, Sam, let’s call up Director Spielberg right now. I’m sure he’d love to answer that for you.

 

SAM

(eats another handful of popcorn)

Huh? What’d you say? Look, you just made me miss the part with Samuel L. Jackson.

 

DEAN

He had like, two lines.

 

SAM throws a few pieces of popcorn in Dean’s face. Dean snorts and swats them away, eating a few that fell nearby on the blanket.

 

SAM

(with a laugh and a glance at Dean)

You’re just mad we’re not watching Showgirls.

 

DEAN

We could’ve had it all: blankets, cocoa, popcorn, and a quality movie. But you chose this crap.

 

SAM

Because Showgirls has such great cinematic qualities.

 

DEAN

Give it a chance, Sam.

 

SAM

It’s my night. We’re watching that guy from Seinfeld get ripped to shreds and that’s final.

 

DEAN

(tilting his head back, groaning)

I wish _I_ was the one getting ripped to shreds right now. You know, they couldn’t even spring for decent special effects.

 

SAM

This was high tech back then. And what do you mean they didn’t spring for decent special effects? Do you know how complicated those props were?

 

DEAN

You know what doesn’t need a whole lot of animatronic props? Showgirls. That’s all human, as movies should be.

 

SAM

Then we’ll never watch Finding Nemo ever again.

 

DEAN

(holds his hands up)

Woah. That’s a completely different thing.

 

DEAN reaches for his hot chocolate on the coffee table. He struggles, making exaggerated noises with every passing second. SAM sighs, pauses the movie, and pushes the mug into DEAN’s hands. He looks at Dean, arms crossed over his chest.

 

SAM

Okay. What’s up with you?

 

DEAN

(between sips of cocoa)

Something ten inches long.

 

SAM

No, I said _up_. Not flaccid and sad.

 

DEAN

(chokes on hot chocolate, sputtering)

You…

 

SAM

It’s my turn to pick the movie. Now, either you’re just a sore loser about this, which too bad so sad, or something else is going on. Which is it? Because whichever it is, you’re getting a lecture.

 

DEAN

In what scenario do I not get a lecture?

 

SAM

(tilts his head back, as Dean did before)

No such thing exists.

 

DEAN

(tilts his head back, same as Sam)

I call bullshit.

 

SAM

Tell me what’s wrong.

 

DEAN

(frowns, looks away)

It’s quiet.

 

SAM

And?

 

DEAN

Too quiet. It’s… unsettling.

 

SAM rearranges their blankets, the popcorn, and cocoa so that he can curl into DEAN on the couch. He turns off the television and settles against DEAN.

 

SAM

Does that make it worse?

 

DEAN

Yeah.

 

SAM

Sorry. What do you wanna do about it?

 

DEAN

Don’t keep asking me shit.

 

SAM

Not an option. Talk to me.

 

DEAN

No, _you_ talk. You said you’d give me a lecture. Pony up.

 

SAM

Nope.

 

DEAN

So we’re gonna sit here in silence, huh?

 

DEAN pulls his blankets up to his chin and pouts, refusing to look at SAM. SAM waits.

 

DEAN

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

 

SAM

I can do this _all_ day.

 

Instead of answering, DEAN kisses SAM hard. SAM’S eyes go wide with surprise, but close to indulge. A minute later, SAM breaks the kiss.

 

SAM

Nice try. I wish we could do that in PT. Might motivate me more.

 

DEAN

(eyebrows raised)

With your physical therapist?

 

SAM

Yes, with my physical therapist. No, Dean. Jeez.

 

SAM grabs for a cane, tosses off his share of the blankets, and tries to stand up.

 

SAM

I hate PT. Polly is nice, but she’s a little too nice. Especially at seven in the morning.

 

DEAN reaches out for Sam with his right hand, but quickly brings it back to his chest.

 

DEAN

Careful.

 

SAM

Yeah, yeah.

 

DEAN

I figured you morning people would get along. Birds of a feather and all that shit.

 

SAM

(standing now, sighing)

Maybe I would, but all she can talk about during PT is her next trip to Disneyland. Or Disney World. I forget which one. Not like we ever got to go.

 

Still on the couch, DEAN nods and stretches out.

 

DEAN

We could now.

 

SAM

(waving Dean off)

That was not an ad for Disneyland. Besides, I hate Florida.

 

DEAN

It’s not like I’m hankering to spend hours under the boiling hot sun in god’s waiting room, surrounded by hordes of tourists, and being forced to buy overpriced, mouse ear-shaped crap. But.

(scratches chin)

Maybe it’d be… interesting.

 

SAM walks a few shaky steps away from Dean and towards the windows.

 

SAM

If you’re trying to sell the idea, you’re doing a piss poor job of it. The grass is getting long.

 

DEAN

Yeah. I’ll get to it this weekend. Sometimes I just wonder if it wouldn’t be better for us to be someplace warmer.

 

SAM

(still looking out the window, distracted)

Teresa is riding a bike. Look at her go, she’s a pro!

 

DEAN

Does she have a helmet on?

 

SAM

Yep. Dolores is right there with her. And what do you mean warmer? Like the South?

 

DEAN

I mean anywhere warm.

 

SAM glances at DEAN, frowns, and looks back outside.

 

SAM

It’s been four months since I had the stroke.

 

DEAN

Yep.

 

SAM

Moving someplace else won’t change that.

 

Silence for a long moment. DEAN fidgets, then decides to get up. SAM walks away from the window. The two of them stand in the living room, ten feet apart.

 

DEAN

Someplace warm might help prevent another one.

 

SAM

Maybe. Maybe not.

 

DEAN turns away. He covers his mouth with his hand, lost in thought. SAM leans against his cane and clears his throat.

 

SAM

If you wanna go on vacation, I’d be up for that.

 

DEAN

(reserved)

Nah.

 

SAM

(two rapid, anxious smiles)

How’s it… uh, been going in therapy?

 

DEAN shrugs and walks around the living room, hands in his pockets. His shoulders tense.

 

DEAN

She says you should come in.

 

SAM

No.

 

DEAN

(quickly, with an edge)

Really, Sam?

 

Walking towards the kitchen, SAM avoids all eye contact. He leans heavily on his cane.

 

SAM

Yeah, really, Dean.

 

DEAN

(following)

Give me a better reason than that bullshit.

 

SAM

You wanna go to Florida, I’ll go to Florida with you. I’ve been to hell, Florida can’t be much worse. But I’m not going to therapy with you.

 

DEAN

I’m still waiting for a non-bullshit response.

 

SAM opens the fridge and takes out a jar of jam. He leans against the counter and holds it with one hand while the other rests on his cane. He does not look at DEAN.

 

SAM

The last thing I need is to get deeper inside the crap already swirling around in my head. Drop it.

 

DEAN

(points at SAM)

You. You don’t give orders, capice?

 

SAM

No. No capice. I said drop the subject. I can’t… I can’t believe you’re pulling this shit right now. Which card is it, huh? The older brother card?

 

DEAN

The I didn’t have a stroke four months ago card. I’m the one taking care of you. Trying to, because you? You haven’t been a joy to deal with. Everything I try to set up you cancel or avoid or refuse. I’m tired of it. This ends now.

 

SAM

(looks around, upset, holds arms up and out)

This--you think this is the way to get me to listen? To comply? Yeah, I guess I am a pain in the ass patient. But so are you.

 

DEAN moves towards the sink and holds onto the counter, his back to SAM.

 

DEAN

(quietly)

I’m tired. Forget I said anything.

 

SAM

(huffs and tries to open the jar of jam)

Sure. Fine. Whatever. Guess we can always argue some more later.

 

DEAN

I don’t want to argue later.

 

DEAN runs a hand through his hair and turns around. He leans against the counter. He glances at the jar, then back to SAM.

 

DEAN

If you don’t want to go, you don’t want to go. I’ll drop it.

 

SAM

(struggling)

What’s the catch?

 

DEAN

I care about you, Sam. More than just… as a… you know.

 

SAM

(sharply, but quiet)

A brother?

 

An expression of pain flashes across DEAN’S face. He folds his arms across his chest.

 

DEAN

She’s nice, this therapist. Well, as far as therapists go she’s nice. I show up five minutes before the appointment, pay in cash, go in, get out. I usually get a paleta when I’m done. Then I go and check on the guys at the body shop. I try… to think of myself as… normal. Like, just normal. Dude in his fifties, likes classic cars, eats too many steak tacos, likes to cook, kind of a neat freak, and enjoys buying records. That’s me. That’s normal. Those things are normal. Even living and being romantically involved with someone other people perceive as a dude. That’s normal.

 

DEAN reaches out and offers to open the jar. SAM sighs and hands it over.

 

DEAN

I had trouble with this jar last night. Something about apricots--they’re freaking glue.

 

SAM

You were saying.

 

DEAN

(struggling)

It’s just an exercise. Label and identify the parts of me that are easy to… god damn. I bet Walter closed this.

 

DEAN runs the jar under hot water.

 

DEAN

I think it helps. Seeing her, I mean. But I also use a fake last name. I’m not running this through insurance. Hell, I even put a fake address and the number to one of the burners.

 

SAM walks over to the sink and stands close to DEAN.

 

SAM

Any reason?

 

DEAN turns the faucet off and tries again with the jar.

 

DEAN

I don’t trust her. I don’t trust anyone but you and maybe Kevin. He knows who we are. How we are. But anyone else? The whole truth of it? I still can’t. I’m not sure I ever will.

 

SAM

(frustrated)

Do you think I go around telling people I’m married to my brother?

 

DEAN

(quickly)

No. I did not say that.

 

SAM

(softer)

Look. Sorry. I… I think it’s different for you.

 

DEAN

Different how.

 

SAM

I don’t want to say the wrong thing, Dean.

 

DEAN

Trust me. It’s no worse than anything my brain has cooked up. This is impossible, by the way. Eat strawberry jam. There’s plenty.

 

SAM

You’re older.

 

DEAN

(slowly)

Yeah, and?

 

SAM fidgets with his cane and takes a long moment to find his words.

 

SAM

I’m done with guilt. And shame. And whatever the hell else I’m supposed to feel about… this. You and me. You think I don’t hear what other hunters say about us? Kevin’s a friend, but others. They aren’t.

 

SAM pauses and takes the jar from DEAN.

 

SAM

(whispering)

People have always talked. About me. You. Dad. Mom. Well, I’m sick of it. But it’s easy for me to say because I’m the younger brother. I think, if our situations were reversed… yeah, I can see how you’d have a difficult time with it.

 

Silence takes over for a minute. SAM sets the jar down on the counter. He looks over at DEAN.

 

DEAN nods.

 

DEAN

It doesn’t eat me up inside like it used to. Like when we were kids. When we started… see, I can’t even say it.

 

SAM

When we started having sex.

 

DEAN

Yeah.

 

SAM

Which I initiated.

 

DEAN

I don’t remember it that way, but sure.

 

SAM

You never asked me. I asked you.

 

DEAN

(in a murmur)

No, but I wanted it before you did.

 

SAM

How can you be sure about that?

 

DEAN

I was eight. You were four. I told Dad I wanted to marry you. I wasn’t being cute.

 

SAM

What’d Dad do?

 

DEAN

You know. He put his hands on my shoulders and threatened me. Told me never to say that shit again.

 

SAM rolls his eyes.

 

SAM

What lovely parenting.

 

DEAN

Can you blame him though?

 

SAM

Yeah, I can. Kids say things like that all the time.

 

DEAN

He could tell I meant it.

 

SAM

What? Just by looking at you? No, Dean, he couldn’t. He just didn’t handle it well. Dad didn’t handle a lot of things well. Do you remember him being friendly to any queer person? Ever? I sure don’t.

 

DEAN

That’s not the point.

 

SAM

Okay. But all you had was the advantage of time. When I was eight, you were my entire life. The only reliable source of comfort.

(sighs)

You still are.

 

DEAN gives a small smile. He shakes his head and shrugs.

 

DEAN

Thanks. It helps to talk about it with you.

 

SAM

Yeah. I know what you mean. That’s what it’s like being siblings. No one knows what you went through in childhood like a sibling.

 

DEAN

Doesn’t it feel weird to you though? Sometimes?

 

SAM

I wouldn’t call it weird. Just confusing. Because I want to reply like a brother. But I can’t because I’m not just your brother. I’m not even sure I like calling myself your brother. Maybe. Sibling. Sounds better.

 

DEAN

(nods)

Sibling.

 

SAM

Siblings and romantic partners are similar relationships.

 

DEAN

But not the same.

 

SAM

No. I’m sorry I shut you down earlier.

 

DEAN

I’m sorry I pushed.

 

SAM smiles. He bumps his shoulder against DEAN’S.

 

SAM

Hey.

 

DEAN

Hmm.

 

SAM

I had a stroke four months ago and kicked its ass.

 

DEAN smiles. He bumps his shoulder against SAM’s.

 

DEAN

Yeah you did.

 

SAM

I’m working on not being such a pain in the ass patient.

 

DEAN

I know. I’m working on stuff too.

 

SAM

I’m a consenting adult. Just putting that out there.

 

DEAN

What about when we were kids.

 

SAM

Did you deceive me? Pressure me? Coerce me?

 

DEAN

Maybe I did. Without realizing.

 

SAM

I don’t believe you did.

 

DEAN

Power differential?

 

SAM

I was a smart kid, Dean. You think there was a huge power differential. I don’t.

 

DEAN

I think. You’re a lot angrier lately.

 

SAM

(nods)

Yeah. I am.

 

DEAN

So.

 

SAM

So?

 

DEAN

Therapy?

 

SAM

Dean. The best I can say right now is maybe. I don’t want to talk about stuff like this with other people right now. Our relationship. Past traumatic events in both our lives’. Our parents. My stroke. I just. Don’t want to.

 

DEAN

I’m still gonna go.

 

SAM

(softly, with a smile)

Good.

 

DEAN

Can you tell me you’ll work on the anger part?

 

SAM

I will work on the anger part.

 

DEAN

Okay.

 

SAM

Okay.

 

DEAN

I’ll make you toast.

 

SAM

How about we order pizza.

 

DEAN

Or that.

 

SAM

You can pick the next movie.

 

DEAN

(laughs)

Roger Rabbit it is.

 

SAM

(groans)

Ugh.

 

DEAN

C’mere.

 

SAM

No, you c’mere.

 

DEAN leans in. He kisses SAM, slow and deep. He wraps his arms around SAM and presses close.

 

DEAN

(whispering)

More than love.

 

SAM

(whispering back)

Devoted.

 

FADE TO BLACK.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i thought i'd try something a little different. okay, a lot different. but i really enjoyed this. and also hated it lol. i will never be a screenwriter or a writer for TV.
> 
> but it was nice to explore heavier themes in a different format. hopefully all the emotion and background still comes through.
> 
> i will admit it's super cool to see my writing in this format. it feels official? special? something like that. also! i turn 30 in a few days. if you had to give your 30 yr old self advice, what would it be? <3
> 
>  
> 
> (last two lines are from BE Barnes, "Devoted.")


End file.
